


Cat Farming in the Cascades

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Embedded Images, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inappropriate Behavior, Inspired by DOB's habit of touching himself inappropriately, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Second-Hand Embarrassment, and also, and also his mouth, and also his nipples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has no idea why, but Stiles has this really horrible, absolutely unconscious habit of <i>fondling</i> himself.  All the time.  In public, in private, it doesn't matter.  </p><p>Really, this is probably at least partially Derek's fault.  Because he didn't somehow stop Stiles' behavior back when he'd had the chance, and the kid apparently never learned not to touch himself in public. So now he's doing it enough that random people are taking videos of him fondling his junk in his <i>university classes</i>.  Oh god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Farming in the Cascades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emissarystilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emissarystilinski/gifts).



> I was supposed to be writing femslash, but then there was a gifset of DOB fondling his junk during AN INTERVIEW, FFS, and this sort of happened. Blame Tattoedstilinski. 
> 
> ~~The tumblr link is fictional as far as I know and doesn't actually go to anything. I thought about making it. I did. But alas, I am lazy.~~
> 
> GUESS WHAT? SOME GORGEOUS ANON MADE THE TUMBLR. IT IS [HERE](http://that-kid-in-my-class.tumblr.com/). I am screaming so loud right now.
> 
> *No one stops to talk about consent in this. Take it as given that Stiles is totally and deeply enthusiastic about sex with Derek.

> **To:** corcor94@yahoo.com.ar, hale.derek.hale@comcast.net, scott.mccall3@student.tamu.edu  
>  **From:** lydia.martin@student.mit.edu  
>  **Subj:** Re: Fix this
> 
> * * *
> 
> As I'm in Massachusetts, I fail to understand why this is an issue I've been copied on. Derek is closest, but Scott may be the best option. Do you _really_ think this is something Stiles should hear from me about?
> 
> V/R,  
>  Lydia Martin  
>  MIT  
>  Maseeh Hall
>
>> **From:** corcor94@yahoo.com.ar  
>  **To:** hale.derek.hale@comcast.net, scott.mccall3@student.tamu.edu, lydia.martin@student.mit.edu  
>  **Subj:** Fix this 
>> 
>> * * *
>> 
>> Look, I'm in fucking ARGENTINA. I can't be looking after Stilinski from down here. Someone needs to get hold of that kid before bad things happen.
>> 
>> <http://that-kid-in-my-class.tumblr.com>
>> 
>> -Cora

Derek reads through the short email exchange, brows furrowing deeply as he realizes there's something going on with Stiles that likely has him in trouble. He's not prepared, though, for what he finds when he clicks the link Cora included; not nearly prepared.

Front and center on the masthead of the website is a moving picture of Stiles. It's probably not readily apparent to anyone who doesn't know the kid, but to those who do… yeah, that is _definitely_ Stiles Stilinski.

Derek has no idea why, but the kid has this really horrible, absolutely unconscious habit of _fondling_ himself. All the time. In public, in private, it doesn't matter.

The first few times Derek had noticed it, he'd assumed that it was Stiles' gross, teenaged boy way of flirting. So he'd ignored it, very pointedly. He'd even made disapproving faces and scowled a lot, enough that Stiles had taken to calling him "Sour Wolf"... but. But then sometime around Stiles' junior year of high school, Derek had realized it wasn't actually directed at him. It was like Stiles' dick was his touch stone, his lucky rabbit's foot. The times when he wasn't touching it were actually more rare than when he did. 

Really, this is probably at least partially Derek's fault. Because he didn't somehow stop Stiles' behavior back when he'd had the chance, and the kid apparently never learned not to touch himself in public. So now he's doing it enough that random people are taking videos of him fondling his junk in his _university classes_. Oh god.

Derek scrolls a little more, and has to slam the lid of his laptop shut and breathe a minute because while there had been random moving pictures of Stiles' hand on his crotch, sometimes just holding it, sometimes actually stroking himself through his jeans, there were also pictures of him flicking his tongue suggestively over his lips. And a zoomed in picture of his extremely noticeably pouty nipples.

Whoever had set up this account has taken everything Derek's been working very hard for _years_ to ignore and made it unignorable. 

Reopening his laptop, Derek gulps at seeing that picture of Stiles' nipples again before he closes down the tab and goes back to his email. Hitting reply all, he types one pathetic, pleading word: _Scott?_

**

Derek's got one hand down his pants, his libido all the way down the rabbit hole of unbridled lust — yes, he'd clicked the link again; he's on page sixteen of the site dedicated entirely to Stiles' filthy fingers and mouth and _everything_ — when the ping of an email notification grabs his attention.

He finishes stroking himself off, because he's safe in the privacy of his own home where it's _decent_ and _right_ to rub one out, before checking the email.

It's from Scott, who had apparently been in class all morning. His message is long and rambling, a bit like him, but the gist of it is that he's afraid if they say anything to Stiles that Stiles will drop out of school and move to the mountains and collect cats.

 _Collect cats_ is actually underlined in the email. Because apparently that's Scott's biggest fear for his best friend. That the kid will start a small feline farm in the Cascades or something. Not, you know, get expelled from Stanford for public indecency.

Jesus.

Derek tiredly drags one hand down his face, freezing half-way through in horror because it was the hand he'd been masturbating with and now he's got his own slightly-tacky come rubbed all over his face. He's obviously no better than Stiles.

After a quick shower, Derek shoots off another email to the group with the promise that he'll solve their problem. It makes sense; he's the closest and the only one of them that doesn't have very important university finals this week. Then he packs a small bag with a change of clothes and two bottles of the lube he buys in bulk because it's _fiscally responsible_.

He gets in the Camaro and sets his GPS for Stanford. He's going to fuck the indecency out of that kid or die trying.

**

The only one in Stiles' room when he gets there is his roommate. Rick or Roy or whatever his name is. Derek doesn't care, just gives him a hundred dollars cash and tells him to make himself scarce until at least noon the next day. Derek's not sure when Stiles has class in the morning, but he's erring on the side of caution.

Randy takes the money with wide eyes and an easy grin. He grabs a few articles of clothing off the floor and stuffs them into an already bulging backpack before directing Derek toward his 'stash' with a wink and leaving before Derek can tell the kid he's got plenty of lube. 

Hell, whatever, maybe they'll use a few of the kids' condoms just for ease of cleanup.

Derek has barely had time to pick up the messy room and make himself comfortable on Stiles' bed before the door opens. 

Stiles walks in, eyes trained on his phone. He looks a little stressed: the corners of his wide mouth are pinched into a little frown that's mirrored in the lines on his forehead and the way his eyes are scanning a little too rapidly, like he's internally freaking out. 

"Rob, dude," he says, slinging his backpack to the floor without even looking up. "Thank god you're here. I could use a hit or five right no-oooow. Heeeey, Derek. You're not Rob." And then Stiles looks around a little frantically, even glances under the desk like he thinks Derek shoved his roommate somewhere. After disemboweling him, probably. 

Then Stiles smiles big and bright and utterly fake and says, "Forget anything you think you might have heard."

Derek just narrows his eyes at Stiles, grunting. 

Running his hand through his hair, Stiles goes back and kicks his backpack out of the walking space before turning around. "Sorry, sorry. I wasn't expecting you, so I'm still kinda trying to readjust—"

Derek's eyes drop instantly to Stiles' groin. He's only slightly disappointed to see that there's no readjustment going on down there.

"—my thought process." Stiles squints a little, then smiles again and this time it's the little lopsided thing he reserves for those who know him. It makes some part of Derek relax. "Not that you aren't welcome, man. Damn, it's good to see you. This week has been _killer_. The good news is, I totally have time to entertain you because I just took my last final."

"You don't have class tomorrow?" Derek wonders idly if he's interrupting any plans Stiles might have had for post-exam parties before deciding he really doesn't care.

"The final for that class was a paper. I actually submitted it before I left campus. Email _and_ a hard copy to the TA because I've heard some horror stories. But," he waves his hand through the air, like he's pushing aside that train of thought, "you don't care about all that. What brings you to my humble abode?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Derek learned long ago that subtlety was not his forte. Now he does _blunt_ like it's second nature. "Or a boyfriend?"

Stiles blinks rapidly a few times, mouth dropping open. It's… a wide mouth. Something Derek has noticed a time or twenty. He's often had the absent thought that he could put his entire, fully hard dick in that mouth with room to spare. Then Stiles flickers his tongue over his lips in a way that makes Derek's asshole clench with need.

_Damn._

"Uh, I mean. I just…" Stiles waves his hands around, his fingers spasming in mid-air as his cheeks go a little splotchy with color. "It's not like there haven't been _offers_ , but—"

 _"Stiles!"_ Derek's voice is just short of a growl. "Yes or no."

Pursing his lips, Stiles looks down at the ground, a little pouty. Like the nipples his newly crossed arms are framing. "Not yet."

"Good." Standing from the bed, Derek crosses to where Stiles is standing and grabs his forearms, pulling them apart. Ignoring the look of bewilderment on Stiles' face — seriously, it's not like he's not going to figure it out in two seconds — Derek ducks his head and licks his way right past Stiles' shock-parted lips.

Stiles tastes a little stale, a little bitter and overly sweet from the energy drinks he favors, but Derek blasts right past that. He grasps Stiles' hip in one hand and uses the other to cup the back of Stiles' head, turning it a little to help deepen the kiss without either of them getting sore necks. To his delight, Stiles lets out a breathy little moan and moves closer, almost tripping over Derek's feet in his haste to press their bodies together. 

Stiles isn't the only one who makes noise, though; when Stiles' tongue begins flickering nervously at Derek's, Derek can't help rumbling a little growl of approval and chasing after it, sucking on it lightly. He doesn't miss the way Stiles' hips are hitching against his own, the kid's dick already pressing hard against the inside of his jeans and, in turn, the front of _Derek's_ jeans.

Slipping his hand from Stiles' hip, he carefully eases both their buttons open, lowers their zippers and lets go. The soft cotton of their underwear is much better for lazy frottage than rough denim and scratchy metal. Not that Stiles seems content to keep the frottage _lazy_. 

Derek should have brought more lube.

Separating their mouths with a last little sucking kiss, Derek drops to his knees, planting his face right in Stiles' cloth-covered dick. Which is when things _almost_ go ass over tits, because Stiles' knees choose that moment to stop working. Catching him with a little growl, Derek knee walks Stiles to the closest bed — he'll leave a little extra for the roommate kid to buy new sheets — and gets Stiles settled before he yanks his underwear down and swallows his dick whole. 

Stiles goes fucking _nuts_ then, bucking and yelling and slapping his hands against the mattress until Derek has to grab his hips and hold him down. Not because he can't handle a little face-fucking, but because Stiles is actually in danger of vibrating right off the bed if he doesn't.

There's probably a record breaking somewhere with the speed at which Stiles gets off the first time. It doesn't exactly bother Derek much, because long, luxurious blow jobs aren't all that great for the one on their knees. Swallowing down the load of come Stiles deposits in his mouth, Derek licks him clean until Stiles is making little helpless noises of distress, and then slides up the bed to share the flavor with another deep, engaging kiss.

When he feels Stiles' fingers fluttering around his own dick, Derek pushes up onto his elbows, a single eyebrow raised as he looks down to watch. There's something a little bit cute about the way Stiles seems uncertain now, like he doesn't spend twenty hours a day with his hand on a dick. Sure, it's always his own, but the mechanics aren't _that_ different.

"Jesus," Stiles mutters when he finally pushes Derek's briefs out of the way and gets a solid grip on Derek's dick. "That's… fuck, dude."

Derek shrugs, glancing up to make eye contact long enough to say, "That was the plan."

"Seriously?" The way Stiles' eyes go Bambi-wide makes Derek snort a little laugh. 

"I just had your dick in my throat. Pretty sure you shouldn't be surprised by anything else."

"Yeah, no, I just… kinda thought maybe I hit my head and hallucinated it. _Am_ I hallucinating? Is this a bad trip? Was Rob's stash laced with something?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek mutters, "I'm pretty sure even you would hallucinate having a bit more stamina than—"

"Oh my god, _shut up!_ You're such an asshole! Like you could do better."

That eyebrow goes up again, a shit-eating grin accompanying it this time. "Put your mouth to better use, and I'll prove it."

It never ceases to amaze Derek how strong Stiles can be when he wants something. In under a second, their positions are reversed, Stiles shoving both their jeans down and then muttering when they get caught around their ankles because _shoes_. Once the details of undressing are taken care of, Stiles pops two fingers in his mouth and gets them nice and wet, a little sparkle of deviltry in his eyes. Shoving Derek's thighs wide, Stiles tickles his wet fingers over Derek's rim just before dipping his head and sucking the entirety of his dick into that mouth.

The last coherent thought he has is that, yeah, he could totally get a couple fingers in there too.

**

Derek rocks forward, pushing into Stiles' ass slow and steady, gritting his teeth against the tight, clenching heat that makes him want to thrust harder. Stiles isn't ready for that level of fucking. Not yet. Not with the way the whines he's biting into his pillow sound.

A little high and a little pained and a little like he never wants this to end.

When Derek's all the way in, he pauses, lets Stiles adjust to the feel of the real thing — "Pssh, like I don't have an entire _collection_ of dildos, dude." — stroking his hands soothingly over Stiles' sides and his back even as his own knees quake a little from how fucking good it feels. Stiles finally rocks back against him, because he's a pushy little shit, and Derek takes that as the signal to start thrusting. So he does, little short jabs followed by longer thrusts until he's gliding in a little easier with each roll of his hips. 

When he's got a good rhythm going, when Stiles' noises are all punched-out moans falling from a wide-open mouth that still has a little come-crust in the corner, Derek notices Stiles' hand sneaking down toward his groin. With a growl of warning, Derek slaps it away. "No. No touching."

Stiles whines, pushing up onto his elbows and twisting a little at the waist to glare half-heartedly at Derek over his shoulder. The look is wasted though, when his eyes roll with pleasure. They're a little glazed, the lids drooping over them in a look that's a little tired and a lot sultry.

And then his hand starts sneaking again. Derek gives it another pop, probably leaving a red mark on the back of it even as he snaps his hips brutally. Stiles cries out and falls back onto his face as his arms flail out from beneath him. He grips his pillow tight, twisting and pulling at it as his hips rock a little out of sync with Derek's steady thrusts.

"Please, please," Stiles grunts, the words punctuated by the wet smacking sounds Derek's hips are making on his ass. "Need to touch."

"No. You don't get to touch it any more. It's mine. Mine to touch. Not yours."

"Fucking. Possessive. Asshole. Oh my god, yes, right there," Stiles sobs, entire body shuddering as a tear actually works its way from the squeezed-tight corner of his eye when Derek takes pity on him and reaches down to fondle the tip of his dick.

He can't really blame Stiles for all the pictures on the internet, not really. It's a nice dick, one he definitely doesn't mind pinching between his fingers, especially not with the way it makes Stiles shake apart beneath him.

But he's trying to accomplish something here, and he can't go easy on Stiles. A little ditty about sparing the rod and spoiling the child filters through the haze of sex that's clouding his brain, and Derek huffs a laugh. He'll give Stiles as much _rod_ as he can handle if it'll help him keep his hands off his dick in public.

Wow, he is _never_ sharing that thought with Stiles. That was horrible.

Squeezing and pinching the head of Stiles' dick doesn't do much to help the kid with his stamina; he's coming within minutes and the contractions of his ass around Derek's dick pull him right along for the grand finale.

It's when they're laying there, trying desperately not to let any part of their sweat-drenched bodies so much as brush each other, that Stiles goes a little stiff and still beside Derek. "Oh my god," he whispers, turning his head slowly. "Oh my god, you saw it."

"Hnn?"

"That fucking tumblr! You saw that stupid tumblr and that's why—" Flopping around, Stiles buries his face in his pillow again, then lifts his head with a grimace and flips it over to the not-spit soaked side before planting his face in it again.

"Yeah. You know about it?"

The word Stiles says is mostly muffled by the pillow, but it sounds an awful lot like, "Jackson."

"Huh."

"I can't believe you fucked me just so—"

Derek slaps the back of his head, irritated. Fucking Stiles. Should have known he'd ruin the afterglow. "Not just because of that."

Stiles peeks at him with one eye. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Although you really do need to keep your hands off your dick in public."

The eye turned toward him crinkles a little, gleams a lot. "Does that mean I can put them on _yours_ in public?"

Derek groans, rolling over and pushing Stiles' head further into his pillow until he flails and makes frantic noises. "Idiot."

"That wasn't a no."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr.](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com) Edit: So is [that-kid-in-my-class](http://that-kid-in-my-class.tumblr.com/)!!


End file.
